We were mere feet apart firing weapons powerful enough to bring down an elephant. My ears were ringing and my side where I’d landed was killing me. I called, “Hold you fire!” I was hoping my protective gear might have led him to believe I was law enforcement. I said, “Put down your weapon and let’s talk.”
“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” the man demanded.
“I’m Homeland Security. Now put your weapon down, I’m coming out.”
As I started to get up the man pumped another shell into the chamber and pointed the gun at me. Once again I dropped behind the couch just in time before he blasted off another round. I was done talking to this asshole. This fucker was relentless. I didn’t hear another shell get pumped into the chamber so I seized the opportunity. In a split second I jumped to my feet and leveled my rifle at him. Shooting from the hip I hit him three times in the chest. He dropped the shotgun and collapsed.
I relaxed a bit and took a deep breath. A large dark stain formed on the carpet around the man. He lay perfectly still.
All the blinds were pulled shut and the house was dark. I pulled the 9mm and began going room by room to clear the house. It soon became apparent the man lived alone. One of the smaller bedrooms had been turned into an office and another was filled with junk.
Convinced I was alone, I pulled off my backpack, gloves, helmet, vest, and boots. I was so hot that I just kept going. I took off my shirt, socks, pants and underwear. I was tired of feeling sticky all over and needed to rinse off. There was no running water of course so I sacrificed another bottled water to shower. After being in my backpack all day the water was actually a comfortable temperature for a shower. I was happy to see he had soap.
As I rinsed the grime off my body, I wished I could do the same on the inside. In my first day of freedom since I’d escaped, I had killed a dog, a shop owner, a kid, and now a man defending his own home. I was practically a mass murderer. It was nothing to be proud of. Who was I to take their lives? Was my survival worth all the lives it cost? Was I headed for a day of reckoning, a time when I would have to account for all my misdeeds?
I dried off and went looking in the closet. I was done wearing Roger’s clothes, I wanted to forget about him. I tried on a pair of dark green khakis but they were too small for me. Same with a black pair of dress pants. Damn, this guy was too little. I went into the bedroom and rummaged through the dresser. I found some clean underwear and decided to be happy with that.
Much to my dismay I found the kitchen shelves were empty. I opened the refrigerator which turned out to be a big mistake. I was immediately hit with the putrid stench of rotten food. I saw unrecognizable brown and green orbs before I slammed the door shut. I wondered what the man had been living on.
I went into the family room and sat on the overstuffed chair adjacent to the couch. The couch looked like it had literally exploded. I dug through my backpack and pulled out a bag of pretzels that I’d found at Roger’s and the bottle of whiskey. Back in the kitchen I found a clean glass and brought it back into the family room. Then I looked at the man lying on the floor. This wasn’t right. I grabbed an armful of clothes from his closet and piled them on top of the body. I scrubbed my hands with hand sanitizer and poured whiskey. This was going to be nice.
The pretzels were stale, but not too bad. I sipped whiskey and looked out the broken back doors. The colors were fading as day turned into night. I began to relax and settle in with my thoughts.
Wasn’t this what everyone wanted? Just some peace and quiet in their life? A home to call your own, a backyard, and some food to eat? Why did we tear down what we worked so hard to build up? I thought about all the adversity we had to overcome to get to where we are today. What was it like for the people who had settled the country? Nothing but tangles of trees and weeds and vegetation so thick you couldn’t even walk through it. They had to hack their way through the underbrush with machetes. We cleared all that land and built houses and bridges and roads and utilities and stores and factories and everything else that makes up our modern world. Then war comes along and destroys everything. And for what? Because of differing religious beliefs or politics? Guess what? People are different! Get over it! That’s why we have different countries, so different people can live in different places.
Why had the North Koreans started a nuclear war with the United States? Did they do it because they thought we were going to start a war with them? How stupid is that? Here’s an idea: wait until the first missile gets launched before you do something. Maybe it will never happen. In our case it never would. Look at our history: did we start a nuclear war with Russia all those decades during the cold war? No, we didn’t.
I poured more whiskey. How much better off would the world be if there was no war? How much better off would we be if all the time and money and lives spent on wars and military were instead diverted to other things? How much poverty could be eradicated? How much further would we be in the areas of science and technology? In curing diseases?
But of course that was just a pipedream. Since the dawn of mankind conflict has existed. That’s the way God made us, and no amount of dreaming about world peace or sitting around a campfire and singing Kumbaya was going to change it.
I poured more whiskey.
It occurred to me that a parallel could be drawn between my own survival and national security. Just as countries spent a portion of their resources on armies and navies, I had spent a portion of mine on survivalism. In a time of war, the military did what it had to do in order to defend the nation and defeat the enemy. As for myself, in a time of crisis I did what I had to do to defend myself and survive. If that meant I left a trail of bodies in my wake, then so be it. How many people had died in wars? Lots of them. More than anyone could count or even comprehend. If some weaker, less-prepared people had to die in order for me to survive, then that’s the way it had to be. Was it illegal? Sure. Was it immoral? Perhaps. Was it necessary? Most definitely.
I had spent my time and money preparing to survive, and I did it in good times when everybody else was playing around and having fun, enjoying the typical American life of leisure and entertainment. They played while I was busy collecting body armor and guns and ammunition and storing up food and water. Now the tables had turned. I was going to live and they were going to die. Why should I feel guilty about it? Did they feel bad about me when they were having fun and I was working at becoming a survivalist? No, they didn’t. In fact, most of them would have ridiculed me. ‘Get a load of this nutjob.’ But who was laughing now? You could almost say they were the enemy, the unprepared masses who scoffed at me while I was preparing for a coming disaster. Now that disaster had come, weren’t we all competing for the same finite resources? Did that not put us in competition with one another? Did that not make us enemies?
I poured more whiskey. The pretzels were almost gone.
Most of the people in this country couldn’t tell you the most rudimentary facts about how our government works or about the Constitution or the rule of law. Many of them can’t even name the vice-president. They know nothing about world events or foreign leaders or potential threats. History to them is something in an old high school book, long ago forgotten. But those same people can tell you every detail about popular celebrities – what they wear, where they go, what they do and who they do it with. They can name every contestant on the latest talent or dance show. They can name the starting lineup of every sports team and recite endless sports statistics. That’s the problem with America. We have become so complacent and focused on entertainment that we invite our own destruction. The world is filled with jealous zealots who toil day and night singularly focused on a mission to come over here and take what we have. People who look forward to the day when they will take over America and call it their own. People who would change the name of every state, every street, every river, and every city. People who would kill the president and plant their flag atop the White House. People who wou
ld gleefully demolish the symbols of American independence and freedom like the Statue of Liberty, the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and Mount Rushmore.
I emptied my glass and set it down hard. I looked at the pile of laundry on the floor. Despite all my mental gymnastics and philosophizing and self-justification, I still knew there was a body under there, and that I had killed him. Fuck it. I decided I was going to quit feeling guilty about it. Excrement occurs, as they say.
I got up and chugged a bottled water, then I pushed furniture against the broken doors. I felt my way through the darkened house to the master bedroom. I curled up in the king size bed and promptly fell asleep.
Sometime in the middle of the night I was awakened by the sound of breaking glass.
Chapter 19
Someone had smashed a window. I sat up, my head feeling thick from the whiskey. I got out of bed and reached for my rifle. The small ballistic flashlight at the end of the barrel is operated by a remote-mounted pressure-sensitive pad which is perfect for these kinds of situations. The pad is mounted where my hand naturally grips the rifle so it gives me complete control over the weapon and the light at the same time.
I moved slowly to the bedroom door. I could hear voices.
“Come on,” a man whispered.
“I’m going around. Unlock the door,” another man said.
Slowly I unlocked the bedroom door and silently turned the doorknob. I eased the door open about an inch.
A moment later I heard the front door open.
“Looks like somebody’s already been here,” the first man said. “There’s a dead body over there.”
“Really?” the other man said. “Why is it covered in clothes? Did you do that?”
“Fuck no. It was like that when I seen it.”
I heard kitchen cabinets opening and closing.
“There’s nothing left. Let’s get out of here.”
I opened the door a little further so I could see. Just as I did the hinges creaked.
“What was that?” one of the men asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
I quickly backed away and positioned myself on the far side of the bed with the rifle aimed at the door. A second later the bedroom door flew open and there stood a man with a revolver in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
I squeezed the trigger. Dammit! I meant to squeeze the light pad. Fuck. I did that sometimes. My brain must be mentally dyslexic.
I had shot the man in the stomach. He fired back. I had no protective gear on whatsoever and I felt totally exposed. Fortunately he missed. I fired off five more rounds in quick succession, hitting him in the chest, neck, and face. He dropped the light and collapsed to the floor.
The other man cried, “Jason? Jason!”
I tried to impersonate him. I cupped a hand over my mouth and said, “Yeah, in here.”
It didn’t work. The next thing I heard was the front door slamming. I jumped over the body and ran out the front door. The man was running as fast as he could. I fired several rounds and he fell headlong to the street. I trotted after to him.
When I reached him he was still breathing. He was lying on his back, spitting up blood. I stood over him, suddenly aware that I was wearing only boxers and a tee shirt.
“What are you—?” the man gasped. “What are you going to do?”
“This.” I pointed the rifle at his forehead and pulled the trigger. His head bounced and blood poured from the hole between his eyes. He slumped to one side and stared blankly off into space.
I trotted back to the house, shut the door, and headed for the bedroom. I needed to put some clothes on but I was determined not to leave wearing Roger’s things. I found a thin pair of lounge pants. They would have to do. I quickly gathered my belongings and left through the back door.
Back out on the street, I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder. No one followed me, there were no sirens, and nobody seemed to care. What were things coming to when you could shoot a man in the middle of the street and have absolutely no consequences? I wasn’t sure if I wanted to live in a world like that.
Sometimes I surprise myself. I hadn’t meant to shoot the first man, it was an accident. But once it happened, I had to clean up my mess. I couldn’t leave his buddy out there to plot his revenge. Better to tie up loose ends. Once you’ve crossed that line there’s no turning back; the state can only execute you once.
I made it back to the main boulevard and put a couple of miles behind me before sunup. At dawn there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the air was cool and wet. I looked ridiculous, wearing what essentially amounted to pajamas. Pajamas and body armor. Now people would really think I had escaped from a mental institution.
The businesses out on the boulevard became fewer and farther between. I knew that if I was going to score some clothes I needed to break into another house. Maybe I’d get lucky this time and find something my size.
I came to an apartment complex and decided to give it a try. I went in and studied the buildings which were three stories of wood and stucco. There were a few cars in the parking lot, but much like the neighborhood, none were of recent vintage. Any car new enough to have EMP shielding was long gone by now.
My thoughts were interrupted by a group of teenagers sitting in a breezeway.
“Look at this bozo,” one of them said.
I stopped and stared.
“What are you looking at?” one of the teens said rudely. He was skinny with long black hair and a little scrub of growth on his chin. He wore ripped jeans with holes in the knees and a ragged tank top. Black hairs protruded from his armpits. He had a piercing over his right eye and his left ear was pierced.
“Nothing.” I replied. “Just surprised to see anyone up this early.”
“Well, now you’ve seen us, so piss off pajama man,” the other teen said.
Why all the hostility? He was beefier than the first one. He had spiked blonde hair and a tattoo of a green snake on his neck. He wore a faded red tee shirt and a pair of dark brown pants.
The girl sitting between them laughed. She was cute and showed plenty of skin. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a million-watt smile. Her shapely breasts were barely contained by a pale pink tee shirt cut midriff and ripped down the center. Down below she wore a pair of faded skintight jean shorts.
I returned my attention to Beefy and said, “That’s not helpful.” It’s one of those meaningless PC phrases I’d picked up somewhere along the way. I tossed it out there when I felt I needed to say something but really didn’t want to say anything at all. We can all learn a few tricks from the liberals. They’re the kings of bullshit and it’s fun to turn it around on them sometimes. What I really wanted to tell the shit was that he better shut his fucking mouth or I would shut it for him.
Skinny mocked me and said in a nasally voice, “‘That’s not helpful.’”
Now I was starting to get pissed. I adopted an authoritative tone and asked, “What are you doing out here?”
Ignoring me, Beefy said, “You’re one of them scavengers, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know, them fuckers that keep coming around stealing everything.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Thought so.”
Skinny said, “We ain’t got nothing, so fuck off.”
The girl arched her back and her nipples strained against thin cotton fabric. Not having seen an attractive female in weeks, it caught my eye.
Beefy said, “What are you looking at, perv?”
The girl obviously had done that on purpose. She looked like the type who enjoyed flaunting her body.
“Yeah, why don’t you get lost?” said Skinny.
I moved closer. Suddenly without warning I pushed Skinny hard. I quickly turned and pushed Beefy onto his back and stepped on his neck. I looked down at him and said, “It’s not her I want, it’s you.” I re
ached down and started unbuckling his pants.
The girl backed up and screamed, “Oh my God!”
Beefy croaked, “Get off me, you faggot!”
Skinny got back on his feet and tried to grab me. I swatted him away like a fly.
Beefy gasped for air and punched at my leg. It hurt, a lot. He punched me in the thigh, right where I’d taken my share of football helmets back in high school. I let go of his pants and delivered a solid left jab. Beefy’s nose exploded and blood went everywhere.
The girl screamed again.
“Fuck!” yelled Beefy, then his head dropped back.
I pulled his pants off, exposing him in the process. The girl looked. I had a pretty good idea it wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before.
I took a step back with the pants and admired them. “Just my size.”
Beefy sat up, one hand covering his junk, the other his nose.
I smiled at Beefy. “I’ll wear these with pride knowing I pulled them right off your sorry ass.”
He started to get up. I pointed the rifle at him and the smile ran away from my face. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
He sat back down. We glared at one another. I nodded at the girl, turned and walked away.
I hadn’t taken ten steps before Beefy started running his mouth again. “I’ll get you. I’ll get you for this!”
I didn’t even turn around. I flipped him the bird and kept on walking.
Chapter 20
Figuring I had worn out my welcome at the apartment complex, I made my way back to the boulevard. I’d been walking maybe five minutes when I heard a voice behind me. “Hey, wait up! Hey!”
It was the girl. Are you kidding me? I stopped to let her catch up. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her breasts were bouncing all over the place. This girl was incredibly sexy and she knew it. She had jailbait written all over her.
When she caught up to me the hostility I’d seen earlier was gone. “Hey,” she said breathlessly. “What’s your name?”
How to Survive a Nuclear War Page 10
